


Tuesday: Seven times

by WingcommanderArthurShappey



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Arthur can't stop touching himself, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Masturbation, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-17
Updated: 2014-05-17
Packaged: 2018-01-25 10:52:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1646039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingcommanderArthurShappey/pseuds/WingcommanderArthurShappey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur's doing something a wee bit naughty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tuesday: Seven times

The first time happened right after he woke up. He'd had one of those dreams where you wake up hard and sweating and twitching in the middle of the night, when it's still dark outside and you know everyone else is asleep, except Snoopadoop, who's downstairs, playing with the curtains in the living room. One of those dreams where you touch and squeeze yourself under the duvet, but you're too tired to continue, so you fall asleep whining and wanting and forget about the dream until the next morning, when you wake up for the second time and you're still so hot and bothered. He rubbed himself lazily and sleepily at first, until he remembered that it was his turn to make breakfast today and he'd promised Mum there would be eggs. That made him touch himself a bit more frantically, and it took him mere seconds until he came all over his pyjamas.

He couldn't stop thinking about the dream, about the way dream-Skip had looked at dream-him through his lashes and begged him not to ever stop kissing and touching him, and Arthur got hard again when he ate his crunchy nuts, with his chin almost touching the bowl because he didn't want to spill any milk when he raised the spoon, and Mum talked to him about... something... something he couldn't remember because he was still thinking about Skip and he couldn't listen to Mum when he was thinking about Skip. The second time happened during the shower he took after breakfast, with his forehead resting against the tiles and his hand stroking his wet, hot prick until it pulsed, hard, and his come disappeared into the drain, along with the hot, steamy water and his choked little moans. 

He was just a tad bit more quiet than usual when they were driving to work, because touching yourself right before and right after breakfast was really exhausting, but then they arrived at the airport and went to Mum's portakabin together, where Martin was waiting for them, and Arthur's heart started racing in his chest again. He didn't know what it was - maybe the way Skip's curls peeked out from under his hat, or how he licked his soft, rosy lips when he took a last look at the flight plan, or maybe it was just that he was wearing the new uniform Mum had bought him after he'd finally convinced her that his old one was looking too shabby for a professional airline pilot - but he was just so pretty, so gorgeous that Arthur couldn't help but kiss him softly and shyly, and they kissed again later in the flight deck, even though Douglas was sitting right next to them. And kissing Skip didn't help, really, because it reminded him of his dream again, and Arthur served the passengers with that hot, urgent tingling in his belly and hid on the loo after to have a wee and a, well, okay, a wank. He used the loo two times on their flight to Inverness, and one time on the way back, and he was flustered and sweaty when he brought Skip and Douglas their coffees, but he told them that he'd just gotten a bit hot in the galley because he'd set the paper cups on fire and fires were hot, and Skip gave him a bit of a look and went to check on the galley, to see if Arthur was telling the truth. And they kissed with Skip's back against the fridge and Arthur's hands under his new uniform jacket, until there was no air left in their lungs and Skip had completely forgotten about the fire. 

The sixth time was when Arthur was home, right after he'd gone walkies with Snoopadoop, and he was sore and aching already, but he couldn't stop, couldn't stop thinking about their goodbye kiss, the way Martin had buried his hands in Arthur's hair, tickling him gently and sending thousands of little shivers down his spine, the way he'd pressed himself against Arthur behind closed hangar doors, hungry for something they hadn't done yet and that neither of them wanted to ask for. 

And now, with Snoopadoop being banned into the kitchen and Mum fast asleep downstairs, Arthur couldn't help but palm himself through his pants again, biting his lip because he knew he really shouldn't be doing this. Everything hurt, and also, spending a good percentage of your day rubbing your bits because you couldn't stop thinking about your pretty boyfriend made you feel a bit like someone who cut their leg off because their foot was itching, but he just couldn't stop. One last time before he went to sleep couldn't do anyone any harm, could it, and so he pushed his pants down and curled his fingers around his sore prick, stroking it very lightly until it twitched and swelled and he had to turn his head so he could muffle his moans into the pillow. Arthur was so exhausted he thought he might pass out, but he wanted to finish this, because maybe if he didn't and fell asleep hard and wanting, he'd have one of those dreams again and then the whole thing would start all over again the next day. And he thought of Skip, oh, his cute, gorgeous, freckled, ginger Skip, who made him laugh until he couldn't breathe anymore, and who played charades with him and organised a flight-deck Christmas for him even though he didn't like Christmases. Arthur wanted to touch him, kiss him and lick him all over, count his freckles with his lips and paint his skin pink with bites and deep kisses. Arthur was panting now, squeezing his eyes shut as everything around and in him collapsed so rapidly, and white sparks where gathering in his belly to form one giant, burning ball of light and warmth inside of him that he knew was going to explode very soon, and he didn't know if he could keep quiet when that happened.

He took his hand away from his bits with a loud, frustrated moan and arched his back, clenching his fists at his sides and tugging at the sheets. His prick hurt, and it was slapping against his stomach like it wanted to punish him for stopping, or maybe it was just angry at him because he couldn't leave it alone even though it was sore and red and tired. Arthur grunted and flipped onto his stomach, bringing his hand to his mouth to make it wet before he pushed it down again, gripping his bits, hard, and burying his face in the pillow. He could barely breathe, but he really didn't want Mum to hear his moans as he bucked his hips, thrusting into his hand. The bed made little squeaking noises, but Arthur didn't hear them. He heard Skip's hard breathing and his moans as he imagined pushing himself into him, again and again, making him feel so good, making him clutch at Arthur's back and whisper his name, oh Arthur, Arthur...

He shouted into the pillow as the world exploded around him, and white and green fire roared through his veins, myriads of sparks and fireworks dancing behind his closed eyelids. It didn't last long, and Arthur was almost relieved when it was over. It was like he'd just died a little inside, and he barely had the strength to pull his hand away and turn his head to the side so he could breathe. Everything was warm and fuzzy and throbbing, and with one last, ginormous effort, he flipped the pillow to the cool side and took a deep, much needed breath. A tiny little smile played on Arthur's lips as he relaxed into the mattress, knowing that, because he'd already touched himself six times today, there was no mess he needed to take care of, and he could just fall asleep and hope he didn't have any naughty dreams again. Tomorrow, he'd take Skip to the park, and there he'd kiss him under blossoming cherry trees, and tell him how much he loved him, and Snoopadoop would play in the grass and hunt butterflies while Arthur stroked gentle hands through Martin's nice, ginger curls. The smile got wider and happier. "Brilliant," he mumbled, and he passed out with a soft, relieved hum, sighing as he finally let go and drifted off into the darkness, on his cuddly bed that carried him through his dream like a paper plane made of home. 

He dreamt of bear pilots and jaffa cakes.


End file.
